


everybody wants to be a cat (except simon snow)

by swansaloft



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cat!Simon, Humor, M/M, Magical Accidents, Romance, a bit of background dev/niall, all the disney references, and we can never have enough of them, as the kids say, for all you furries out there, i hope this doesn't awaken anything in me dot jpg, listen magical mishaps are my favorite thing, so here is my addition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22672267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swansaloft/pseuds/swansaloft
Summary: I leap to my feet and frantically twist my body around to inspect myself as much as I can. I have brown, stripey fur. Paws. A tail.“Meow,” I say, except that in my head, it’s an extremely resoundingfuck.Wherein Simon gets turned into a cat and has to find a way to reverse it. (But still, he isn't going to waste a prime opportunity to spy on Baz...)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 43
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by my love of tropes coupled with my inability to stop myself from making gratuitous Disney references. It was originally supposed to be for Carry on Countdown, but clearly that didn’t happen. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Regardless, I’m posting now, and I’m planning on weekly updates. Enjoy!

**SIMON**

**(HUMAN)**

**THURSDAY**

I hate Disney spells.

We have a unit on them in Magic Words every year, and it’s always everyone else’s favorite. The students get all nostalgic, and everyone walks around the grounds belting out “A Whole New World” and “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King” together. There are competitions to see who can cast the best **no one’s quick as Gaston** or **swift as the coursing river** , and it’s one of the few things we bet on.

It’s generally a grand time. What’s not to love?

Except for the fact that I’m shite at them.

According to Miss Possibelf, Disney spells are some of the most powerful in existence, not only because everything Disney is consistently popular with Normals, but also because the caster has the power of the nostalgia and emotional connection born of hearing a song a hundred times growing up.

But I don’t have that. I saw a few old VHSs at some point, probably, but who cares? (Have you _seen_ Dumbo? Who would want to watch that more than once?)

The point is, I don’t remember a happy childhood when I cast **hakuna matata**. I just say it like I would any other spell, and it falls flat.

Magic Words isn't my favorite class on any day, but during the Disney unit, I loathe it.

At least I can cast the more recent ones, though, as much as I can anything. (I refuse to use **let it go** on principle, though, because Baz cast it on me a million times during third year. He was constantly making me drop shit: my food, my wand, my toothbrush. Thought it was bloody hilarious, the git.)

But I get through it every year. Until this year, which somehow reaches a new low.

Because we’re studying Disney spells when Agatha breaks up with me.

The weather is absolutely gorgeous, the sky a rare robin’s egg blue, and the fucking love song from _Tangled_ warbles up from her (totally illegal) mobile on the ground next to my head.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” she declares, gripping her wand and staring intently at her notes on the origins of **Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.**

“What, study? I agree. Fuck Disney.”

“No,” she says, chewing her lip. “This. Us. I think we should break up. Permanently.”

Her face looks upside down from this position, and for a second, I’m sure that I’ve misheard, that her words have been twisted around, too.

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be a couple anymore. And I don’t think you do either.”

I swing myself up into a sitting position, and the sudden rush of blood into my skull does nothing to help clear my head.

“Sure I do.”

“Why?”

I shrug, and Agatha sighs, waiting.

“Because you’re my future,” I say. “We’re each other’s future. Right?”

It’s clearly not the correct answer, because her eyes go sad. “That’s not a reason. It’s just...a checkmark on one of your lists. Got the future settled. Done,” she says, waving her wand in a little zig-zag like she’s checking off a box.

“That’s not true!” I grit out, ignoring how closely the statement aligns with how I think of her.

“Okay. Tell me why you want to be with me.”

The panic causes my mind to go entirely blank. My magic starts to itch, coming to life beneath my skin, as my brain races to think of something she wants to hear. All I can muster is a series of half-thoughts I dismiss as quickly as they arrive. _We’re supposed to be together. It makes sense. Your hair is soft. I like your family._ They all seem stupid and pointless, and as seconds pass in silence, her cheeks grow rosier. I don’t know if it’s from anger or embarrassment, but I don’t want to cause her either one, and I run my hands through my hair, trying to think harder.

“See? You can’t even give me one.”

“Just because I’m not good with words-”

“Actions speak louder than words, Simon! And yours haven’t exactly been encouraging lately.”

I bluster. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ the fact that you barely even notice when I’m around! I’m used to Penny coming first, but lately you pay more attention to _Baz_ than you do to me! Even when he isn’t here!” I start to break in, to say that’s different. If Agatha had a nemesis who was missing for the first bit of school and came back with a mysterious limp, she would be just as obsessed with finding out the truth. And it’s not like I don’t always spend a good bit of my time every year following Baz to make sure he’s not up something nefarious. It’s just good sense!

But she continues without letting me get a single word in. “If you want to break up, I can take it. I just wish you’d get the balls to admit it instead of pretending you want this and then ignoring me. I deserve better than that. So, what do you want, Simon? Do you want a checkmark? Or do you want me?”

Her. Right? Of course it has to be her.

But I can’t seem to make myself say it.

My mouth doesn’t work. My tongue is heavy behind my lips, my teeth an ivory cage.

“Just **_say what you mean_ **,” she casts with eyes flashing, and just as quickly, they round with horror, and she drops her wand. “Shit. Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

I stand and wipe my hands on my trousers.

“I think you’re right. Let’s not do this anymore.” I’m not sure if it’s the spell or the conversation that has yanked the words from my throat and released them into the air. I don’t know the spell, but Agatha’s not a very powerful magician, and I didn’t feel compelled.

But that would mean they came from me.

_“And at last I see the liiiiight_ ,” her tinny speakers sing, and she’s blinking up at me, and I don’t know what to feel. My stomach is a jumble of conflicting emotions and staticky magic looking for an outlet, so I just grunt a wordless goodbye at her and stalk off toward the Wavering Wood.

And now here I am, tromping around aimlessly through the trees and wondering what the hell is happening. I don’t want to break up with Agatha. I want to stay with her and have Christmas with her family every year and have everything settled. I don’t know where this part of my story is supposed to go if she isn’t in it.

I don’t really want to emerge until she leaves, so I follow the trail farther in than I usually take it, gripping my wand just in case I run into anything unexpected.

Then I realize I’m humming the _Tangled_ song, and I scowl.

I switch to a different song that had played earlier. I’d never heard it before, and Agatha explained that it was from a movie about posh French cats, which sounded hilarious. And it _would_ be fun to be a cat. Lounging around, basking in the sun. No pressure, no worries about studies or magic or confusing girls. What’s not to like, really?

I hum the tune as I walk along. I don’t really remember most of the words, but I eventually get to the chorus, and the only lyrics I know tumble out of my mouth:

_“_ **_Everybody wants to be a cat_ **,” I sing, soft and probably off-key, but it makes me smile.

And then everything goes black.

**SIMON**

**(CAT?!?!)**

**THURSDAY, PART TWO**

When I open my eyes, the world is blurry.

Not completely. Not the things close to me. In fact, I notice a beetle crawling along the forest floor a meter away with perfect clarity, and for a moment, I have an urge to grab it. Then I realize I have much bigger priorities than some beetle, but when I look around, trying to find the Humdrum in the distance, everything is a blur.

And the forest isn’t as colorful as I remember it. It still seems green, just...less. Less vibrant. Like something has sucked some of the color away.

Is the Humdrum stealing color along with magic now?

It has to be a Humdrum attack. Nothing else makes sense. I’ve never passed out in my life, not unless you count the blackouts I get after going off, and this is nothing like that. But I don’t see any creatures, and I don’t feel that staticky Humdrum sensation. I _do_ feel odd, though.

For the first time, I try to move, to shift something besides my eyes, and I am suddenly aware that everything doesn’t just feel odd. The way my body moves is _wrong_. I feel lithe and strong and too-flexible, like my joints aren’t in quite the right places anymore.

And then I look down.

And I _scream_.

Except it doesn’t emerge as a human scream.

An awful, blood-curdling sound emerges from my mouth that sounds a lot like a yowl. Like a cat. 

Because _I am a fucking cat_.

I leap to my feet and frantically twist my body around to inspect myself as much as I can. I have brown, stripey fur. Paws. A tail.

_“_ Meow, _”_ I say, except that in my head, it’s an extremely resounding _fuck_.

Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.

My heart is beating too fast, but I don’t know if it’s panic or if that’s how cats’ hearts normally beat. I don’t know. I’m definitely panicking. I’m also definitely a cat. I’m alone in the woods, and I’m a _cat_.

Or maybe I’m just inside a cat. Like Penelope can do. Maybe I accidentally stumbled across a cat and somehow cast myself into it? Except I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works at all. But it’s the only thing I can think of. What was the last thing I was doing before I woke up?

I try to concentrate, but it takes a few seconds before I can focus. I was upset about Agatha, and I went into the Wavering Wood and I was singing stupid Disney songs and…then nothing.

A purple butterfly catches the edge of my eye, and I whip my head toward it and focus. It’s so close, I would just need...I catch myself and give myself a mental shake.

Merlin and Morgana. 

This is. Actually happening.

And what is _this_ , exactly?

It can’t be a Humdrum attack, because I don’t feel him. People get turned into animals all the time in Disney, I’m pretty sure. I’d think this was someone’s idea of a hilarious prank if it had happened anywhere but the Wood.

Suddenly, I forget about the butterfly, because the fact that I’m in the Wavering Wood catches up with me. And while it has plenty of harmless insects to chase while I wait for this spell to end, there are also lots of bigger and meaner creatures that make their homes out here.

Just imagining running into a worseger has my back arching, and I feel my ears move to lie flat against my head.

I cast around to get my bearings and notice that I’m lying just off the trail, thank Merlin. I hop over to it and start toward Watford. Good. Step one complete. No problem.

It’s just what to do when I get to school that’s an issue.

My first thought is to go find Penny, but she’ll be gone until Sunday night. Of all the weekends for her cousin to get married.

I make a foreign, annoyed sound in my throat, pausing at the edge of the Wood to think. I don’t want anyone catching sight of me until I have a plan. I could go to Agatha, but she’s allergic to cats. And I’m bad enough at communicating with her in human form; I can’t imagine it would go well if I tried as a cat.

Then I see Baz striding across the grass, dressed in his practice gear. (I frown. He’s still hurt; he shouldn’t be playing. Plus they don’t usually practice on Thursdays. I would’ve skipped studying with Agatha if I’d known, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess.)

But if I can follow him across the grounds and slip in behind him...at least I know our room is a safe place to wait.

It’s getting dark, and I have no desire to come across a chimera when I don’t have a sword. Or a wand. Or magic at all.

_Do_ I still have magic?

Even if I did, I left my wand back where the...the _transformation_ happened. 

But I don’t have time to go back. Baz is getting away.

I hurry after him, and I’m surprised by how quickly this body can move. I’m caught up to him within seconds, and I have to hold myself back to stay a decent distance behind. The key will be to follow him close enough that I can get in the door to Mummers when he opens it but not _so_ close that he notices me.

He pauses, and I sink down low into the grass.

Then he moves again, and I follow after him, a little farther back this time. He’s almost to the door when he whirls around so fast, it’s a blur. I scamper to hide behind a close tree, but it’s too late. He’s seen me. 

He frowns and walks a few steps toward me. My heart leaps in my chest, and my fur stands on end. Maybe his vampire senses can tell something’s off. Maybe I’m actually a cat with a human face - I have no idea. But I think he realizes no matter how, and I start shouting.

_Baz! Baz, it’s me! Simon! Your roommate!_ I’m yelling as urgently as I can, but all that emerges is a series of highly stressed meows.

He crouches down. “Poor thing. How did you get out?”

I try to release a frustrated huff, and it turns into a sneeze. 

Baz gives me the softest look I’ve ever seen him give anyone. (It’s weird. His mouth even curves up the tiniest bit, and not in a cruel way.) For a minute I lose track of what I want to tell him because I’m so thrown, and he scoops me into his arms and straightens. It comes flooding back to me then...followed immediately by a flood of fear.

He can’t know I’m me. He would kill me in ten seconds flat. Would probably even do it with some feline-inspired spell just to be a twat. (There’s got to be one. **Curiosity killed the cat** , probably.)

Baz is toting me into Mummers with him, and the terror grows. Maybe he _does_ realize it’s me.

Or maybe.

Maybe he’s a _vampire_ , and he’s just excited dinner came to him for once.

Fuck a nine-toed troll.

I yowl and struggle to get free just as the door shuts behind him, contorting my body and unleashing my claws in an explosion of panic.

“What the-” He startles and drops me, and I land on my feet and scamper toward the door.

“Crazy cat.”

I keep my back toward the door and stare at him, hissing, tail in the air. Is he going to leave me here and go to our room? Or will he try to chase me?

I won’t be able to outrun him, but I instinctively ready my claws.

Baz turns away, but instead of heading up the stairwell, he continues to the first door past it. His knock is loud and decisive, and he waits until Rhys opens the door.

“Your cat got out.”

Rhys’s face - which had already gone slack with surprise at seeing Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch standing at his door - reddens. “What cat? I don’t have a cat. That’s against the rules.”

“Everyone knows about your illegal cat, Rhys.”

(I didn’t. I’m thinking this must be less a everyone-knows thing and more of a super-vampire-senses thing.)

“Oh.”

“I don’t care. Just here to return her. Consider it my good deed of the day. Enjoy your tearful reunion.”

Baz turns to head up the stairs, and without his lanky form in the way, Rhys’s gaze falls on me. He wheels a little closer and looks confused.

“But- that’s not Sabrina.”

Baz pauses with his foot on the second step.

“Beg pardon?”

“Sabrina’s in here. With me. And she’s not a tabby.”

Baz appears fully puzzled for the first time, looking first at me and then back at Rhys. 

“Then who’s this?”

Rhys shrugs. “Beats me.”

“Oh. Well. Sorry to disturb you.”

Rhys looks like he wants to answer but isn’t quite sure how to, so he just nods, wheels himself back inside his room, and shuts the door.

Baz’s gaze finds me again, and I arch.

He narrows his eyes. 

Here it comes. I’m going to be dinner. It’s finally come to this. He’s going to murder me and not even _know_ it. Some end for the Chosen One.

I’m trying to remember the layout of Mummers, to think of where the best hiding place would be. There’s no way I can outrun him forever, not in an enclosed building. Hiding is probably my best option. Then Baz’s face does that confusing softening thing. “If I pick you up again, will you promise to leave some skin?”

He isn’t looking at me like he wants to eat me. He’s looking at me like-

like he _likes_ me.

Which is a thoroughly disconcerting look to get from your mortal enemy, let me tell you.

It’s so confusing that I let him pick me up, and as he starts up the steps, I can’t help wondering if this is a good choice or if I’m being carried off to the world’s most humiliating doom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for that spectacular welcome! Glad I'm not the only one who has a weak spot for this trope.
> 
> This is going to be a bit longer than I first imagined, so I'm bumping up the chapter count to five. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**SIMON (CAT)**

**THURSDAY, PART THREE**

The good news is, Baz hasn’t eaten me.

The bad news is, I haven’t eaten anything.

How often are cats supposed to eat? I know nothing about them. There was a stray that I used to see outside the home I stayed in last summer, but it didn’t want anything to do with me, even when I offered it some food. (To be fair, though, that chicken tasted like it was a hundred years old. Hence why I tried to pawn it off on a cat.)

All I know is that it feels like my stomach is trying to digest the rest of my body, but I don’t dare whine around Baz. He’s just studying at his desk, and he’s been nothing but nice so far, but it’s his dinner time. I’d really rather not remind him that he has the perfectly-sized snack sitting right here, just out of arm’s reach. I’m practically a Teenage Vampire Hot Pocket.

Besides, it’s suspicious that he’s been so nice. Maybe that’s part of his Thing. Vampires are charming, after all; that’s how they talk their victims into inviting them inside. 

He’s trying to lure me into complacence, I’d bet anything on it - he even tried to pet me once, right after he brought me up to the room, but I hissed at him and placed myself just in front of the door. Not that I’ll be able to escape without opposable thumbs, but it makes me feel better.

Despite my plan to stay silent, my stomach betrays me with a loud, gurgling rumble. Baz glances over from the desk and smirks. “Just what I was thinking.”

Huh?

He stands and arches his back, spine popping. He quirks a brow at me. “What do you say? Hunting time? I know the best rat buffet in town.” His mouth twists in an expression caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

He tosses on a jumper over his shirt even though it isn’t that cold outside. Then I’m being unceremoniously scooted aside so he can open the door, and he holds it ajar behind him.

For me.

I follow him, even though there’s no way in seven hells I’m eating a rat.

If there’s anything good about this whole situation, it’s that it will give me a chance to see Baz with his guard down. He’s already more talkative than I would’ve guessed. I think he’s said more non-insulting words to me in the past three hours than he has in all the years we’ve known each other combined. 

Facing the facts, unless this spell wears off on its own, I’m stuck like this until Sunday night when Penny gets back. Monday morning at the latest, if I can’t get to her until then. Penny’s brill, and she’ll figure it out even if I can’t speak.

Until then, this might be the only opportunity I’ll ever have to trail Baz completely and utterly without his knowledge. I won’t even have to try to be sneaky. (Though I _will_ have to stay vigilant. He might be acting like he has no interest in eating me now, but who knows when he might change his mind.) The thought of having free access to everything Baz does, to every moment, every word…it fills me with a giddy sense of excitement. This is it. The opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I’ll finally know what he’s plotting. What makes him tick. Where he goes when he doesn’t think I’m watching. 

Maybe I’ll even find out what happened this summer.

I’m so thrilled by the idea of finally, _finally_ having a leg up on Baz that for a few minutes, I even forget how hungry I am.

It reemerges momentarily when we descend the steps of the Catacombs, but then I envision trying to eat a rubbery pink tail, and it’s just about enough to rob me of my appetite for the rest of my life.

No rats for me. I’ll just sleep as soon as possible, and then I’ll steal something from the kitchens in the morning.

Baz’s jumper makes sense now - it’s colder down here. A little musty. The catacombs give off the sensation of being damp, even though the ground beneath my paws is chilly but dry. Still, it’s unpleasant when you don’t have shoes.

“Here you go,” he says, waving a hand dramatically like a game show host. “Have a ball.”

Then he disappears down a corridor to the left, with the confident stride of someone who’s been down here a thousand times.

I wait a few seconds, then trail after him as quietly as I can, thankful that I can see a lot better down here as a cat than I could as a human. It’s weird to be at floor level, but every once in a while I recognize a landmark I remember from all the time I spent trailing him fifth year.

He doesn’t pay any attention to me, but suddenly, his head snaps to the side, and a second later, I hear a faint scurry.

I want to watch him, but there’s also a part of me that wants to know what’s making that noise.

And then I see it. There’s a small rat in the far corner, facing away from me, and my eyes narrow. I crouch, silent and watchful. It’s completely clueless. Perfect. I feel my muscles coil, waiting for exact moment to spring…now!

With a rush of adrenaline, I pounce, straight and sure-

And then I hit something, twin trees that have sprouted from the ground out of nowhere, and I’m tangling in them, yowling, and trying to get free. There’s a _thump_ on the ground right beside me, and I flinch away from the flailing limbs.

Because they were not, of course, trees.

They were legs. Baz’s legs. And judging from the stream of creative curses leaving his mouth and the fact that he is now on the floor, he’s not very happy about me interrupting his dinner.

But I’m also not happy about him interrupting my game. It’s not like I was going to _eat_ it. I just wanted to catch it. And now the rat has scurried away through a crack in the wall I’ll never be able to fit into.

I hiss at Baz, annoyed. 

He hisses back.

I freeze on the spot. I’ve never seen him in vampire mode before, not up close. His fangs are beyond huge. They’re massive. Gargantuan. And sharp. They’re like giant ivory razor blades that could slice right through me.

My tail drops between my legs, and I back away.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his words slightly blurred by the fangs. He stands, dusting off his trousers. “Don’t get in my way again. Unless you want to be next.”

He shoots me an annoyed glare, though I think there might be a slightly humorous glint in his eye. 

I think.

But I’m not going to risk it.

I leave him alone after that, dropping back and watching from as far away as I can manage. I only get distracted by a scurrying sound once, and the memory of Baz’s fangs is enough to jerk my attention back to him.

But I may as well not have followed him at all. There’s no grand plot going on here; he doesn’t do anything interesting. He drains a few rats, yawns, then heads back outside.

He holds the door open, and I trot through, careful to leave as much space between us as possible. 

I follow at his side all the way back to Mummers, and he stands in front of the building and stares down at me contemplatively, tapping his fingers against his thigh.

“You can’t live with me, you know. You should go back to wherever you came from.” I don’t move, and he gestures to the open air. “Go on.” 

Even to me, it’s obviously half-hearted.

And then the thought occurs to me that Baz Pitch, The Gittest of Gits, might actually be a cat person.

The soft looks, the attempts at petting, the fact that he hasn’t tried to suck my blood from my body…it all slots into place.

Huh.

Who would’ve guessed.

Even though it goes against every human instinct I have, I follow the feline one that wells up inside me instead. I sidle forward and brush up against his legs, looking up at him.

The fragile ice in his expression melts, and he bends down to pick me up.

“I guess for the weekend, since we’ll be alone. He must’ve gone with Bunce.” He’s clearly talking about me, and I don’t know whether to be glad or worried that I have such a strong - albeit false - alibi. The only person who saw me after Penny left would have been Agatha, and she certainly won’t be looking for me.

Baz carries me up the stairs to our room and deposits me on my bed.

“There you go. A whole bed just for you. Not like it could get any messier,” he adds in a lower voice as he turns away and tugs off his extra jumper, tossing it in the hamper. He looks back at me. “I should call you Simon. You’re just as bloody annoying as he is, following me like you do.” He peers at me more closely. “And you have the same eyes…” 

Every muscle in my body freezes. This is it. He’s figured it out. At least he won’t kill me in the room, since it would mean he’d be expelled. I might have a slight chance of escaping once he takes me outside.

I can feel my fur start to bristle, but then he shakes his head and laughs to himself, pressing a hand to his forehead before letting it drop. “Crowley, I’m ridiculous.”

I relax once more, settling down into the tangle of blankets.

“What should I call you, hmm?”

This bed is the same one I sleep on every night, but I have never fully appreciated how soft it is until now. I take a deep breath and sink into it, peering up at Baz with one eye as he continues watching me.

“Felix? Garfield?” he asks with a raised brow and a deadpan voice. He pauses, voicing a new thought. “Are you even a bloke?”

“Yes,” I bark sharply, except of course I don’t. It’s just a short meow.

And obviously he doesn’t understand me.

Suddenly I’m being hoisted in the air as his gaze inspects my nether regions, and it’s a good thing I’m not human, because my entire body would be a blotchy fuchsia right now.

He drops me back down onto the mattress, where I want to bury my head under the blanket. Instead, I just lie very still.

“Great. So. That’s solved. How about…Flynn. You could be a Flynn.” He reaches toward me gently, and seeing I’m not going to bite him, he runs his fingers along my fur. His fingers are warmer than they were earlier, and it feels…weird, but good. So good. 

So. Incredibly. Nice.

My head lifts of its own volition, stretching up into his palm as his fingers dig gently into my fur. When he starts scratching my neck, I can’t help the purring that comes to life inside me. I don’t even know how I’m doing it. I just know that I never want Baz to stop touching me.

That thought is enough to startle me into realizing what I’m doing. Letting my mortal enemy pet me like…like…

I jerk my head away, and he laughs. “Touchy.”

He stands, gathering clothes and a towel before striding into the next room, only poking his head out to say, “Don’t touch my pillow. I don’t want to wake up choking on fur balls.”

I barely keep myself from scoffing. As though I’ll be going anywhere near his pillow. He has this whole thing about it. One time during fourth year, I tripped and fell onto his bed while I was practicing my swordplay on his side of the room (he was being a right arse, and I take my small revenges where I can). Even though I tidied the sheets and his pillow perfectly, he somehow figured it out. The way he reacted, you’d have thought I’d sacrificed a litter of puppies on it or something.

Without even fists to defend myself, I won’t be going anywhere near his pillow. I have teeth, but his are bigger and sharper.

Typical.

Just like our magic. My wand might technically be longer, but it doesn’t do me any good.

He even told me so, once, last year. I said that my wand was bigger, and he said, “Doesn’t matter how big it is. It’s how you use it.” 

And then he raised a brow at me when I choked on a laugh. 

He was literally the only person I knew who would be able to say that with a straight face, except maybe The Mage. Micah would have keeled over laughing.

Baz just said, “Glad your sense of humor matches your reading level,” and stalked off.

Which was incredibly unfair, really. We’d been having a perfectly good argument, and _he_ was the one who made the single most obvious Dick/Wand joke in existence (and I’ve heard a lot. If my years at Watford have taught me anything, it’s that the ability of teenagers to make jokes in that genre is infinite. Gareth is the worst about it. Which is stupid, actually, since Gareth doesn’t even use a wand.).

I don’t even remember what we were arguing about, come to think of it. Just that the wand was, for some reason, important.

I wonder if a wand would do me any good like this. I don’t think it would, even if I could hold it. Or speak the words necessary to use it.

I close my eyes and try to concentrate on my magic. The way it usually is, I’m always aware of it. Sometimes I’m a hive with a few bees buzzing contentedly, and other times, I’m a volcano just trying to hold in all the boiling lava. But it’s always there. 

Now, I can still sense it, but it’s…further away, somehow. Like it’s on the other side of a wall. Or like it’s asleep, and I need to wake it up to use it, but I don’t know how.

I think of Baz’s frustrating inscrutability about where he was this summer. I think of the Humdrum. I think of my breakup with Agatha.

All those memories work, and my emotions entangle and fight in my gut. I feel my breath coming in short pants, my limbs going taut.

But for the first time, my magic doesn’t accompany my emotions. It doesn’t seem to be impacted at all. It snoozes away in its little corner while I take a deep breath and try to shove all the feelings back down and concentrate on the problem.

On one hand, this is really weird. I haven’t been without my magic since I was ten years old. I’d forgotten what it felt like. I wonder if it was always like this.

On the other hand, it’s actually...kind of nice. To not have to deal with it, always buzzing around and refusing to work correctly but then suddenly coming to life the way no mage’s magic is supposed to. Not worrying about putting others in danger or getting them magic-drunk.

If I’m honest, the thought of being without my magic for a few days is a relief. Kind of like a holiday.

A very strange holiday with more fur and less personal privacy than I’d prefer, but still. 

I can relax all weekend, and I get to keep an eye on Baz’s every movement without him ever knowing that it’s me. 

Then, when Penny returns on Sunday night, she can change me back, and we can solve this.

I place my chin on my paws and close my eyes, satisfied with this plan. 

As I do, the shower turns off, and a few minutes later, Baz emerges. I open my eyes, just to double check that he hasn’t had a change of heart.

The room fills with the scent of cedar and bergamot, and it takes me a moment to process the fact that he isn’t wearing a shirt.

I can’t keep myself from staring.

He never goes without a shirt when I’m in the room. _Never_. Not once in all our years of living together has he so much as changed in front of me.

I take in every millimetre of perfectly smooth skin and lithe muscle. I know he’s a footballer and that logically means he’s going to have muscles of some sort, but I never really wondered what that would translate to. And just running around a pitch wouldn’t explain his shoulders. His back. Even his arms, which I've seen a million times, suddenly seem different when taken in context with the rest of him.

I wonder if it’s a vampire thing. If he’s simply built to be a predator.

I swallow.

He’s filled out in the weeks since his return. He’s still thin, but the angles of his body aren’t made of glass edges and shadows anymore. He’s all lean strength, built to both catch and kill. He still limps slightly as he moves to turn out the light and climb into bed, but it doesn’t detract from the animal grace of his movements.

Does he always sleep shirtless when I’m not here?

I don’t know what the point would be when he still sleeps under a million blankets. But the thought sticks in my brain anyway.

What else does Baz do when I’m away?

I feel my lips curl into a feline grin.

I don’t know yet. But in the next few days, I’m going to find out.


End file.
